“Of course you are,” I said, meaning it. “You’ve worked for this.”
He grinned, that same easy warmth radiating off him. For a heartbeat, it felt like the old days—back when he’d come to our fundraisers without being prompted, when he’d help the kids run drills on his off days. When he still looked at me like I was part of the same dream.
But now, even as he stood right beside me, I could feel the distance creeping in—the quiet, invisible space where his ambitions lived and mine didn’t quite fit anymore.
I tucked my hands into my pockets, forcing another smile. “Well,” I said, keeping my tone light, “if the scouts do show, tell them to save me a seat.”
Kyle laughed, leaning down to kiss my cheek before heading toward the door again. “I’ll hold you to that.”
We ended up outside, sitting on the bleachers by the small training field. The afternoon sun was warm, the air filled with the steady rhythm of kids kicking soccer balls, coaches calling out drills, laughter rising and fading like waves.
It was the kind of sound that used to feel like home.
I brushed a bit of turf rubber off my skirt and exhaled. “The gala’s turning into a full-time job,” I said, watching the kids chase the ball downfield. “My team’s running thin. We’re stretched about as far as we can go.”
Kyle leaned back, elbows propped on the bench behind him. “You should delegate more,” he said, eyes squinting against the light.
“I’m trying,” I said with a small smile. “But when it’s your name on the nonprofit, it’s hard not to feel responsible.”
He nodded, but I could tell his attention had already shifted. His phone buzzed, and his thumb was scrolling before I could finish the sentence.
I looked away, focusing on the kids again—the bright jerseys, the sheer joy of movement. The part of this whole thing that made the late nights and endless emails worth it.
“How’s your shoulder?” I asked after a moment. “You said it was sore last week.”
He glanced up briefly. “Better. I’m doing extra resistance work.” A pause. “Beckett’s been taking over finishing drills, so that helps.”
My brows lifted. “So you two are working together more now?”
Kyle gave a short laugh. “If you call it that. He’s competitive as hell. Always has to prove something.”
I couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at my mouth. “Sounds familiar.”
He grinned, not catching the quiet edge beneath my words. “What can I say? Competition brings out the best in us.”
I looked at him then—really looked. The way the sun caught in his hair, the way he seemed to vibrate with energy even when sitting still. He was the same Kyle I’d always known—driven, confident, constantly reaching for something just out of reach.
But there was a gap now. Not visible, not loud—just there. The kind that formed when two people’s dreams ran parallel but never touched.
“Sometimes it brings out distance too,” I said softly.
If he heard me, he didn’t show it. His gaze had already drifted back to his phone, his fingers tapping out a quick reply before sliding it back into his pocket.
I looked back at the field, forcing a smile when one of the younger kids waved at me. The moment passed, quiet and invisible, like so many others before it.
“Hey, Ellery?” Naomi’s voice carried before she even stepped onto the bleachers. “Quick question about the caterer invo—” She stopped short when she saw Kyle sitting beside me. “Oh. Sorry! Didn’t realize you were—uh—occupied.”
Kyle chuckled, rising to his feet. “Guess that’s my cue.” He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, easy smile in place. “I should head back before Lawson starts sending search parties.”
“You don’t have to rush,” I said automatically, hating how soft it sounded.
He grinned. “If I don’t, Coach’ll kill me.”
I stood too, brushing a bit of turf off my skirt. “Tell him I said hi.”
“Pretty sure he’d rather not know I’m taking unscheduled field trips,” he said, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my cheek.
Affectionate.
